Dead Guilty by Beverly Connor

photos of the tattoos. Maybe they’ll help in making an identification.’’
Diane didn’t wait around for the autopsy. Even though she’d met Chris Edwards only briefly, it was not easy to watch someone she knew being dissected. As she took a last look at the body, she wondered where Steven Mayberry was. Dead like Chris? Or was Steven the killer and on the run?
    Diane took the bones of Red and Green Doe, the rope, and all of the evidence Lynn and Raymond had collected for her back to the crime lab. David looked up from his microscope when she came into his lab.
    ‘‘I’m looking at fibers from the door frame of the house now,’’ he said. ‘‘It’s mostly white cotton from tee-shirts and blue cotton from jeans. Jin got some good prints of his bloody glove.’’
    ‘‘Speaking of blood . . .’’ Diane said.
‘‘Neva drove the samples to Atlanta.’’
‘‘I’m glad none of you people need any sleep.’’ ‘‘Sleep? We get too much sleep.’’ Jin, wearing jeans
    and a black tee-shirt that said M.E.S ARE ON THE CUT TING EDGE, came bopping into the lab, holding a folder. ‘‘You know, if we live to be a hundred, we’ll have spent over ten years asleep. I checked out the prints we found. All are exemplars, except maybe the glove print.’’
    ‘‘Got anything on the clothes from the Cobber’s Wood crime scene?’’
Jin nodded. ‘‘Lots of carpet fibers. Orange nylon. I found them on all the rope too, including that piece found on the ground. I’ll have the brand of carpet soon. There was some brown shed human hair, but no roots.’’
‘‘All the blood samples are delivered.’’ Neva en tered the lab and stood for a moment, looking embar rassed. She held a brown bag in her hand from which she took three boxes, and handed one to each of them. ‘‘Hey, what’s the occasion?’’ asked Jin.
‘‘No occasion. We talked last night about my work with clay, and... well, thought you might like some.’’
Diane opened her box. Nestled in white tissue paper was a tiny figurine of a gray squirrel on a log, holding an acorn. It was small enough to hold in the palm of her hand, but the details—the fur of the squirrel, the bark on the tree, the cap of the acorn—were remarkable.
‘‘You made this?’’ said Diane.
‘‘Yes. It’s very relaxing.’’
‘‘Relaxing?’’ said David. ‘‘Look at this. You must have had to do each leaf separately.’’ His figurine was a tree with a bird standing on a branch next to another bird sitting on a nest. ‘‘Those feathers look real.’’
Jin’s was a raccoon peering out of a hollow tree. ‘‘Cool,’’ said Jin. ‘‘Do you sell them?’’
‘‘I go to craft fairs occasionally. Mostly, I make them for friends and family. Mom calls them dust catchers.’’
‘‘It’s heavy,’’ said Diane, weighing hers in her hand.
‘‘I put nuts or BBs in the bottom of the clay to keep the center of gravity low. Even though they’re small, they’re pretty good paperweights.’’
‘‘These are great,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Thank you. This had to take hours to make.’’
‘‘As I said, it’s very relaxing.’’
‘‘I’ll have to introduce you to the people who make models of planned exhibits. They’ll love this.’’
Neva seemed pleased with the reception of her gifts. Diane was relieved that Neva was making an effort to identify with the team. The intercom squawked with the receptionist’s voice announcing that Sheriff Braden and Chief Garnett wanted to see her.
‘‘Buzz them in.’’
That must be a pair, thought Diane. She knew that Sheriff Braden and the chief weren’t the best of friends. But neither were she and Garnett. These days, it seemed that Garnett was trying to rebuild a lot of burnt bridges. The two of them looked cordial enough as they walked into the crime lab.
‘‘The sheriff was discussing with me a possible link in our murders, and I thought I’d bring him over to see the lab.’’
Sheriff Braden